"What's going on?" he demanded, stumbling across the room and digging through a stack of disheveled clothes.

Kirk smiled, but his eyes were guarded as he pulled the tunic over his head and began struggling into the uniform pants and boots. "According to our friends, Captain Spock wants us down in the briefing room." He realized that it would have been considerably easier for the Vulcan to summon them with the intercom, but rank had its share of privileges … among them the right to send messengers to take the brunt of complaints when awakening someone from a sound sleep.

Once dressed, Jerry turned. "Well, fellas, what's this all about?" he asked, bending down to zip his left boot and almost toppling over in the process. Only Kirk's extended hand caught him automatically before he fell.

"Our orders are to bring you to the briefing room," the tall one replied stiffly. "I have no other information."

Jerry shrugged, glancing at Kirk's guarded expression. "Hell, Jim," he mused, "escorts no less!" He noticed that his roommate also seemed to be taking his time about getting dressed, and wondered if Kirk was receiving the same psychic warning that he was himself. The day's events had left him shaken, a trifle paranoid, extremely disoriented … and he couldn't recall a time when Spock had sent armed guards to escort ShiKahrcrewmembers to some place as mundane as the briefing room.

Kirk's sidelong glance confirmed it.

Moving to the door, Kirk eyed the two guards suspiciously, then cast a warning look in Richardson's direction.

"Oh!" he said, snapping his fingers as if in recollection. "I don't mean to insult you two—especially since you probably outrank me by at least a couple months—but what with all the uproar over the Canusian crisis and all the new personnel on board the ShiKahr, Captain's orders say we have to follow procedure." He noticed Jerry's supportive but confused expression, and smiled his most charming smile when he saw a look of unmitigated horror appear in the tall guard's eyes for just a moment. "I don't suppose you'd mind giving me the computer code-sequence for the day, would you? Just following orders, boys," he added apologetically, and winked.

The two guards stared at one another blankly. "I … the sequence has slipped my mind," one of them muttered. "Tasme, do you recall the code?"

The other guard shook his head. "I came on duty less than an hour ago," he hedged. But his tone hardened as he turned back to Kirk. "It is irrelevant, Ensign!" he hissed, his tone hardly that of a coolly logical Vulcan. "You will come with us immediately. Captain Spock does not like to be kept waiting." He grabbed the human roughly by one arm, shoving him through the door and completely obliterating any remaining doubts in Kirk's mind.

Kirk planted his feet firmly when he saw the other guard seize Richardson in the same manner. "Maybe so," he replied, his voice surprisingly calm until he brought his elbow hard into the man's ribs. "But I've got a feeling he'd like Romulans aboard the ShiKahreven less!"

With the guard momentarily doubled over, he wrenched free of the hand which still held his arm, and lashed out at the man's face. In the background, he was peripherally aware of Richardson moving in on the second man, and of the battle which ensued. He realized disjointedly that they would have little hope of defeating the Romulans in hand to hand combat; physiology simply wasn't in their favor, and he hardly expected a fair fight … nor did he intend to offer one.

With a brutal lunge, he succeeded in knocking the taller Romulan to the ground; but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other grab Richardson's wrist and twist the human's arm up hard behind his back. Kirk's heart sank, and he winced when he heard the snap and his roommate's muffled gasp of pain.

The last thing Kirk remembered was seeing the one called Tasme pull a Romulan disruptor from the back of a utility belt. A high shrill sound filled the room … and blue lightning escorted him down into oblivion.

"Now we must take them both!" Tasme complained, shouldering the unconscious burden and glancing down the deserted night corridor.

"No!" Sekor argued. "The Praetor's orders were to bring Kirk!"

"Do not be a fool, my friend," Tasme protested. "The other one can identify us too easily. If we are not able to get off this vessel, he would know who we are!"

With a sigh, Sekor bowed his head in acknowledgment of defeat. "I shall never understand our mistress, Tasme," he stated, lifting Richardson's limp form and following the other man down the hall toward the transporter room.

Tasme laughed lightly. "But would you choose another life for yourself?" he asked pointedly.

Sekor only shook his head as a smile lit his eyes. "I am content to do our Lady's bidding," he murmured as they drew to a halt at the end of the hall. "The rewards far outweigh the tribulations … even in moments such as these!"

Sobering, Tasme depressed the control panel which would allow access to the room. "We must return to the Ravonimmediately," he stated. "From there, our Lady wishes Kirk transported to an uninhabited world in the Romulan star system. . . . He let the sentence trail off, stepped into the transporter room, and heaved a sigh of relief. The room was empty.

Thea lounged comfortably in the high-backed chair, one elbow resting on the briefing room table. Black eyes scanned the room, going first to Sarela, then to McCoy, Scott and finally Spock.

"So you see, Captain," she said quietly, "your alternatives are limited. If you wish to see Ensigns Kirk and Richardson again, you mustdo as I request."

Hardened Vulcan eyes locked with cunning Romulan ones; but he had to respect the sorceress. She had planned it well. "You realize, of course, that I could order a complete vid-scan of yourself and your companion." But he was already learning to hate poker. "And neither of you should deceive yourselves into believing that your minds could withhold the information."

Thea laughed gently. "Once again, you have underestimated the mind of a Romulan, Spock," she said. "Neither Sarela nor myself knowprecisely where your friend is being held; for it was simple enough to predict that you would resort to those methods." She shook her head, long hair falling across her shoulders as a smile came to her lips. "The choice is yours, Captain," she continued. "Accept my words as truth—accept meas a Praetor who grows weary of harmful tradition and stagnation—and you shall have your … reward." She paused, eyes hardening. "But should you refuse me … you will never see James Kirk again."

The anger moved closer as Spock's hands tightened on the arm of the chair. Dizziness drove forward, sending waves of heat and nausea through him. He took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment as he fought to recapture a control which had already been lost. Vulcan … the final curse. The ultimate irony. A biological madness for which no scientific cure existed. But as his eyes opened and he looked at Thea, a sudden simplistic truth came to him. She was, he realized, his only hope—a passport into the Romulan Empire … where time-travel was a reality.

"I shall require time to consult with my senior officers," he said, eyes traveling from McCoy to Scott. "You will be returned to your quarters and informed of our decision within two hours."